My So-Called Normal Life
by Rae Roberts
Summary: Sam never signed on for raising a teenage girl, but with Dean gone after the showdown at Sucrocorp, Emma is the only family Sam has left. Can these two stop hunting, stop running, and have a normal life? They're Winchesters, so I doubt it. AU based on 7:13 The Slice Girls and a sequel to Man, Our Lives Are Weird.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This story is intended as a sequel to_ Man, Our Lives Are Weird. _You may wish to read that story before starting this one. _

_For those who have read the previous story, this chapter was posted at the end as a 'teaser'. If you've already read this chapter, you may wish to skip ahead to chapter two. _

_Thank you for reading!_

* * *

"Okay, on Monday we're going to get you enrolled in school."

Emma's expression was skeptical as she looked at her uncle. "It's May. Don't kids usually start school in the fall?"

"Among other things, the dog's got two fractures, Emma. We're going to be in town for a while."

Sam had agreed when Dr. Richardson, the vet, had insisted that he take responsibility for the dog. Maybe it was because he felt guilty for hitting the animal in the first place. Maybe it was because he was starting to realize they couldn't just keep driving aimlessly. Or maybe, Sam thought, it was because when Emma had held the injured dog in her lap he'd seen tears glistening in her eyes. It was the first emotion she'd shown since he'd told her Dean was gone.

* * *

"So you're saying Dad just, what? Disappeared? And Castiel, too?"

Sam nodded, unable to trust his voice. The interrogation had gone on for a few minutes now, scraping his nerves raw. Dean was gone. Not just dead, but truly gone. No body, no hunter's funeral pyre. Nothing left but grief and pain and loss. He wanted to stop discussing it and give in to the reality. To howl and rage. To cry. Or maybe to just curl up around the empty hole in the pit of his stomach and wait until enough numbness set in to allow him to function again.

Instead, he was debating with Dean's teenage daughter. Sam had never signed on for this. He had no idea how to take care of a normal kid under normal circumstances, much less an Amazon defector whose father had just been obliterated in an explosion of black goo. Taking care of kids had always been Dean's thing, not his.

"Did you check for EMF?" Emma asked, maddeningly calm in contrast to his panicked, hopeless sense of utter loss. "It's okay, Sam. We'll figure it out. We'll get him back." Like a child who couldn't understand the permanence of death, she couldn't seem to process that they weren't ever going to get Dean back.

"Emma, listen to me. This isn't a job. It's not a hunt. There's nothing left to hunt." Sam made himself go on, hammering away at her denial. "Dean is dead. He's not lost, he's not missing. He's dead! He's not coming back."

"I don't believe you. He's your brother! How could you say that, without even trying to look for him?"

Finally, she'd raised her voice. Still in denial, but Sam could see the doubt beginning to creep in. He slumped down on the bed beside her, hating having to break this news.

"I'm sorry. When your dad stabbed Dick Roman with the God-weapon, it didn't just kill him. He exploded, Emma. Dean and Cas, they were in range. There was nothing left. They're all dead."

"No. No, no, no, no." And then there were tears. Emma hunched her shoulders in, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. Sam felt his own tears begin to fall, watching her, knowing that same awful emptiness was opening up inside of her. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her like an infant, needing the contact as much as she did. Maybe more. They stayed that way for a while, clinging to each other, Emma's tears wetting the front of Sam's shirt.

"No! It's not fair. He's not dead. He's a hero! He saved the world, he can't be dead."

Sam landed hard on the floor, stifling a startled curse as Emma jumped to her feet. She hadn't thought to control her strength when she'd pushed him away. For an instant he tensed, but as Emma ran to the wall and began beating on it with her fist, Sam understood. It was a classic Winchester method of coping—badly—with emotion. He and Dean had both put a few holes through drywall over the years. He was pretty sure their own father had as well.

He picked himself up and assessed the structural damage, which was impressive. Emma's superhuman strength had broken more than just plaster. At least one of the wooden studs was splintered, the wall bowed. Sam poked his head through the sizable hole, relieved to see that the room next door was unoccupied. And fortunately, the damage Emma had inflicted on herself wasn't too drastic. Bruised and bloodied knuckles he could deal with.

"I'll get the first aid kit."

* * *

"I don't need to go to school," she said now.

Emma's expression was stubborn, and so reminiscent of Dean that seeing it felt like a punch to the gut, but Sam knew how to win this argument.

"Your dad would have wanted you to. He forged a whole file of documents just so you could go." It was a half truth: Dean had started the project. Sam would have to finish it. But, he reasoned, it wasn't as if he had a better way to spend the weekend.

"You'll need some new clothes, too," he added when Emma's silence made it clear she'd given up. Because, Sam thought dryly, he needed more pain and torture in his life.

"No I don't." Emma looked down at the jeans she was currently wearing, which already had a hole in one knee. "My clothes are fine."

...And cue round two. "You'll at least need sneakers for PE and a backpack to carry your books. Come on, I saw a mall just off the highway a few miles back."

* * *

"How about this one?" Sam asked, holding up a women's v-neck t-shirt with _Led Zeppelin_ blazoned across the chest. It was hard to believe stores still stocked these relics, but Sam reasoned that Emma might like a memento of one of her father's favorite bands.

The teenager shrugged. "I don't care."

"Fine." Sam hung the shirt over his arm. Emma had refused to pick out any items on her own, insisting she didn't need them. Why was he subjecting himself to this torture, again? Sam sighed. He could remember so vividly being the new kid, the weird kid, the kid who never quite fit in. Emma's first day of school would be hard enough without her showing up looking like some backwoods survivalist.

"Oh, this one is cute," he said, sarcastic, and held up another shirt, this one bright pink with the appalling phrase '_boys are better than books_' spelled out in silver glitter.

"Seriously?"

Sam waggled it at her. "Yes or no?"

"I don't care."

"Fine," he gritted, and added it to the growing pile draped over his arm. It was a waste of money, but having chosen this battle, he'd be damned if he'd back down.

...Of course, if Emma ever actually wore that particular shirt, Sam thought, he'd have to kill her.

* * *

With Emma in school and Sam working as a handyman at the motel, life settled into a routine. And when the dog had been declared well enough to come home from the veterinary hospital, Sam started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could manage this. Maybe he really could give Emma her shot at having a normal life. Then the dog had run into Amelia Richardson's motel room, sparking a conversation that, for once, didn't end with her accusing him of stalking, and Sam started to think he might just try and take a shot at normal himself.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Emma ran away, she didn't even make it out of town. An hour after he'd dropped her off at school, Sam's cell phone rang.

_This is an automated call from Kermit High School. Your student_—The recording cut off and a bored-sounding woman's voice read out, "Emma Winchester," _has been reported absent from school today_—The recording went on, giving the day's date and other information, but Sam was already tapping the screen to end the call.

When he called Emma's phone, the teenager didn't pick up. There were any number of possible scenarios, a few of which flashed through Sam's mind. Alarming ones involving Amazons, Leviathans, or demons. Mundane options like cutting class with a couple of friends. Sam dismissed them all as either paranoia or simply unlikely. Emma hadn't made any friends to ditch class with. A quick look online at his bank records confirmed his suspicions. Emma had just bought a bus ticket to New Orleans with one of his credit cards.

She was sitting in on a bench in front of the convenience store that served double duty as the small town's bus depot when Sam pulled up in the Impala. Emma was dressed, as usual, in one of Dean's old shirts over her t-shirt and jeans. He rolled down the window.

"Get in the car, Emma," he said, keeping his voice calm. Sam was pretty sure the expression on his face just then was more than enough to convey his disapproval.

She came around to the passenger side and got in, slouching in the seat, arms crossed over her chest. "You do realize I had an appointment with Mambo Sallie Faye?" the teenager huffed.

"A psychic?" Sam scoffed.

"A voodoo practitioner," Emma corrected him. "And she doesn't see just anyone, you know. If I don't show up, we're not going to get a refund. She might even put a bad _gris-gris_ on us."

As if his life could get any worse. "Emma,"—he reminded himself to be patient—"do you really think Dean would want you to try and summon his spirit?"

"No. But that's not what I'm trying to do," she told him in that reasonable, matter-of-fact tone of voice that made Sam want to tear his hair out by the roots.

He settled for simply running a hand through it roughly before putting the car in gear and steering away from the curb. "What exactly are you trying to do, then?"

"Find him," Emma said with a trace of exasperation. "Figure out where he went, so we can go get him back."

"I know where he is. You do too, Emma. Just think about it: Dean saved the world. He's in heaven, right where he belongs," Sam said with assurance. "Look, I know you miss him. Believe me, I know. I miss him, too." Sam swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "I know it's hard right now, but your dad would want you to move on, have a normal life. You've got to let him go, Emma. Let him rest in peace."

"My dad is not dead." Emma spoke slowly, firmly. As if she was giving a command to the dog.

Sam had no idea what more he could say to convince her. "Well, regardless, you're not going to New Orleans," he said finally, plowing his fingers through his hair again. God, he sounded like his father.

* * *

"Hey, you want to bring Emma over this evening? I'll whip up a real, home-cooked meal, courtesy of KFC," Amelia offered.

"Really?" Sam couldn't hide his surprise. He and the veterinarian had grown close in the past few weeks, in spite of Amelia's frequent insistence that he was creepy. Emma, though, had yet to see Amelia outside of her professional capacity as Dog's vet.

"You don't think that's pushy, do you?" Her forehead furrowed. "I just thought you two could maybe use a little break, you know?"

"Yeah. No, that's great." Sam beamed, appreciating her kindness. "We'll stop by around six? Oh, and Emma's a vegetarian, but she'll be fine with side dishes. Just get her some mac and cheese."

He'd expected Emma to resist socializing, but to Sam's relief she was polite, though distant, during dinner. And instead of retreating to their own room after polishing off her Little Bucket Parfait dessert, she went and sat on Amelia's sofa with Dog, petting the Australian Shepherd as he curled up next to her as she watched TV.

"This was great. Really," Sam told Amelia gratefully as they lingered at the little formica dining table, drinking beer.

"I like her." Amelia grinned mischievously at him. "Even if her uncle is kind of creepy."

* * *

Emma ran away for the second time the next day. She'd clearly learned from her prior mistakes. This time, she'd gone to her first class so he wouldn't be alerted by the attendance office call. Sam got his first hint she was gone when he pulled up to the school and Emma wasn't waiting on the sidewalk.

He waited. He called her cell phone. She didn't pick up. Sam waited some more, reminding himself that it wasn't that unusual for a teenager to fail to show up where and when an adult expected her to. Meanwhile thoughts of demons and crazy, man-killing warrior-women formed an ominous backdrop to his own reassurances.

An hour later it was clear that Emma was gone.

"Oh my god, Sam, she's probably hitch-hiking. You have to call the police!" Amelia had stopped by as Sam was checking his banking records online. This time, there was no record of a bus ticket purchase.

As he looked up at Amelia, another mental image crowded out his worries: Emma, sitting nonchalantly on the sofa, apparently absorbed in a TV show. Amelia's handbag, lying on the side table within easy reach.

"Do you have all of your credit cards?"

"You don't really think she'd—" Amelia opened her purse and flipped through her wallet. Her eyes widened. "She did."

"Well, she did learn from the best," Sam said dryly.

* * *

Emma had several hours head start, but the Impala covered ground much faster than a ponderous Greyhound bus with its many scheduled stops. Sam got his prodigal niece off the bus when it stopped at the bus depot in Kilgore, Texas.

"All right, you win. You want to call Dean up? Have a séance? Fine." After driving across Texas for eight hours, Sam's patience was worn thin. "You know what? I hope you can contact him from 'beyond the veil' or whatever. Maybe he'll be able to talk some sense into you," he added, exasperated.

It was another six hours to New Orleans. Neither Sam nor Emma had much to say as they took turns driving, reminding Sam with a pang of the silent miles he and Dean had logged any time they'd had a disagreement. He tried several times to engage Emma in conversation, but the attempts inevitably died out after a few strained words. At last they reached the city and checked into a motel for a few hours of sleep before Emma's appointment with the voodoo priestess, Mambo Sallie Faye.

The voodooienne conducted her business out of an old shotgun-style house with a neon sign in the window advertising her services. The parlor was set up with a circular table swathed in layers of tablecloths, the top one embroidered with arcane symbols. There was an abundance of candles, a set of musical chimes suspended from a brass stand, and bowls of something that might have been components for spellwork, but to Sam's skeptical eye the contents looked more like potpourri. Heavy draperies covered the windows.

Mambo Sallie herself was a dignified middle-aged woman in a flowing caftan. An elaborately tied and pleated scarf covered her gray braids and bangle bracelets clinked softly with every graceful motion of her hands. Her voice was a rich, confident alto as she instructed Emma on the proper frame of mind to maintain during the summoning. Sincerity and purity of intent were crucial, she warned the teenager.

"Did you bring an item belonging to the deceased, as I instructed?" Mambo Sallie gestured them take seats at the table while she turned a dimmer switch on the wall, lowering the lights in the dusty crystal chandelier until the room was dim, shadows gathering thickly in the corners beyond the glow of the candles.

Emma shrugged out of the shirt of Dean's she'd been wearing as a jacket, folding it reverently and laying it in the middle of the table.

"Excellent. This will help us to align the spiritual energies with the physical plane and enhance their manifestation," Mambo Sallie said, laying a hand on the old shirt as if bestowing a benediction.

Seated across from Emma, Sam had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It was tempting to offer to get Dean's favorite sawed-off shotgun out of the trunk as a more appropriate focus of his brother's 'spiritual energies' than some ratty old army surplus shirt. It wasn't that Sam didn't believe in psychics. He'd met a few genuinely gifted ones, like Pamela Barnes. Mambo Sallie was gifted, all right, he thought cynically. A gifted con artist.

They joined hands in a circle while the voodooienne began to chant a summoning ritual. Emma closed her eyes dutifully but Sam noted that her eyelashes fluttered. He didn't bother pretending, watching Mambo Sallie suspiciously.

"Dean Winchester, I summon thy spirit to join us in this sacred circle. Spirit, I summon thee to join us. Spirit, I command thee to manifest thyself… Art thou with us, Dean?"

The chandelier began to flicker with an audible crackle and hum of electricity.

"Emma, the spirit of your father has joined our sacred circle." Mambo Sallie gave Emma's fingers a gentle squeeze, a warm smile lightening her stern features.

"No. That's not my dad," Emma said, shaking her head.

Mambo Sallie's eyebrows shot up. "Child, it is imperative that you have faith."

"I do. But my dad would never go vengeful. He knows better, especially after what happened to Uncle Bobby," Emma said earnestly.

Sam stifled a snort. Mambo Sallie Faye looked completely confused by Emma's comments.

"You are fortunate, child. I am an initiate of many spiritual paths, many different methods of communing with the beyond," she said, collecting herself. "We will consult the talking board."

Sam suppressed his impatience as they all crowded the tips of their fingers onto the heart-shaped wooden planchette and waited while Mambo Sallie repeated the summoning. This time the lights remained dim.

"Spirit, I command thee to manifest thyself. Are you with us, Dean?"

The planchette hovered over the board, coming to rest on the answer. _Yes_. Emma seemed entranced by the procedure, looking eagerly to Mambo Sallie to continue. Of course Emma would want to believe, Sam thought, and unfortunately, the ouija board had credibility. She'd probably heard the story of how he'd once used one to communicate with Dean when his brother had been comatose after a car crash.

"Dean, your beloved daughter, Emma, is here. She is concerned for the state of your eternal soul, Dean. Spirit, I command thee to manifest thyself and tell us, is your soul at rest?"

_Yes_, came the answer. The planchette moved on, hovering back and forth across the alphabet printed on the spirit board, spelling out a message. _E-m-m-a_, it began. Sam scowled. The voodooienne was telling Emma what she wanted to hear. What she really needed to hear, but still, watching Mambo Sallie run her con on the vulnerable teenager made his whole body tense with anger.

_Emma, I love you. My soul is at rest_. The planchette hovered to a stop over the printed word, _Goodbye_.

Emma stood up abruptly, gathering up Dean's old shirt and hugging it to her. "Thank you, Ms. Faye. That was very entertaining," she said tonelessly.

Sam and Mambo Sallie exchanged a look as Emma walked out of the room, her back straight, head held high. Mambo Sallie seemed about to say something, but Sam shook his head and tossed down a pile of bills onto the table to pay for the séance. It was a harsh lesson, he thought, but one that Emma had needed to learn.

Following her out of the house, Sam asked, "What made you change your mind? She really had you going there for a minute."

Emma scoffed. Her eyes were over-bright, signalling the possibility of tears, but her rigid posture had relaxed. "Dad would never say 'I love you'. He didn't need to," she added quickly.

Sam knew his expression had betrayed him.

"I knew," Emma went on, reassuring. She reached up patted Sam's shoulder, a quick, awkward gesture. "He always said we were the most important thing in the world to him."

"I know he loved you. But maybe he regretted not saying it." Sam willed his eyes not to well up with tears. Bad time to play devil's advocate, he chastised himself, but it hurt to discover that Dean had never gotten the chance to speak those three words to his daughter.

"Nah," she said breezily. "And anyway, if Dad really was in heaven and I'd interrupted him, he would have called me Emma Jo. I'm pretty sure he only gave me a middle name so he could use it when I pissed him off," she giggled.

Sam managed a chuckle at that, but the conversation had brought on a fresh wave of grief. Dean should be here for Emma. Damn it, he thought, feeling the heat of those unshed tears, Dean should be here for _him_. He pulled Emma into a hug. "I miss him."

"I know. Me too."

Sam felt the teen's body stiffen at the contact, but she must have taken pity on him because after a second she looped her arms loosely around his waist, enduring the embrace. He sniffled discreetly, composing himself, and let her go.

"Don't worry, Sam. I'm not giving up. We'll get him back."


	3. Chapter 3

"So where to?" Sam asked. At Emma's baffled look, he elaborated, "You don't have to be back in school until Monday. As long as we're already in New Orleans we could do the tourist thing for a few hours, if you want." As annoyed as he still was with her for running away, he couldn't help but sympathize. He missed his brother, too.

But Emma shook her head. "I think we should start hunting for Kevin Tran."

Well, at least he was off the hook for trying to find family-friendly tourist attractions in the Big Easy, Sam thought wryly.

"Kevin's not your problem, Emma."

"You don't think Dad would have wanted us—"

"No," Sam cut her off, "I don't. Crowley took Kevin. Dean did his damnedest to make sure the King of Hell never found out about you. We're going to keep it that way," he insisted as he drove out of the city. "I'm not about to drag you into a hunt, not when Crowley's involved."

"So _you_ hunt for Kevin. You know where to start. I can stay out of it."

"Look, Kevin's a prophet; he's useful. Crowley's not going to hurt him," Sam reasoned, hoping it was true. "I'm out. No more hunting. Your dad wanted you to live a normal life, Emma. So I'm going to make sure that's exactly what you get."

"No, Sam, don't blame this on me. This is about Amelia," she accused.

Sam sighed. Forget hunting, saving the world, stopping the apocalypse... Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him to be a surrogate father to his brother's teenaged daughter.

"Okay, yeah, if we stick around, Amelia and I might eventually have... Something," he admitted, not entirely sure of his own feelings for the veterinarian. "But Emma, you come first. You're family," he assured her.

"Dad's family, too."

She'd turned to stare out the side window, sulking, the words barely audible. Sam chose to pretend he didn't hear.

* * *

"Sam, you need help."

He heard the slosh of liquid being poured into glasses. Amelia appeared beside him, offering a motel room tumbler three-quarters full of whiskey. His maybe-girlfriend and his late brother shared the same go-to method for coping with stress, Sam thought wearily. He nodded his thanks as he took the glass and knocked back a healthy swallow.

"I just need a little more time to get some kind of lead on which way she's headed."

"It's been almost eight hours already. She's a teenaged girl," Amelia argued. "Anything could happen to her. You've got to call the police."

"She's street smart. And a lot tougher than she looks," Sam tried to reassure her, but privately he had his own doubts. Emma had hunter training and superhuman strength on her side, sure, but she was still just a kid, and as vulnerable as a normal human to being shot or stabbed… Or drugged, Sam thought with a twinge of nausea, and forcibly stopped that train of thought.

"I can find her. A lead will turn up."

"Even if you can find her on your own, Sam, then what?"

Amelia was pacing. She'd already finished her own drink, Sam noted. Her obvious concern for his niece warmed him, but it was becoming apparent that Amelia had a few issues of her own to deal with, too. That thought was easily pushed aside, however. Right now he had Emma to worry about.

"Just what are you trying to say, Amelia?"

"Just that Emma's obviously a troubled kid. You may have to admit that you can't meet all of her needs all on your own," Amelia said, her brown eyes warm with concern.

Sam knew she meant well, but his hackles rose at the thought of notifying the authorities. Emma would wind up in foster care, he thought, unwelcome memories of his and Dean's own childhoods flooding back. Their dad had had to deal with his share of concerned teachers and school counselors. Nosy busybodies with good intentions. He and Dean had learned young to lie to authority figures. A hunter's life wasn't exactly conducive to raising kids, not in a way the state would deem acceptable, anyway. And Emma wasn't human. That complicated matters. He couldn't risk her getting put into the foster care system.

"Just a few more hours," he lied, "and then I'll call the police." Sam stood up and grabbed the car keys from the coffee table. There was no way he could explain his reluctance to Amelia. He left her staring after him, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

Driving aimlessly wasn't going to solve anything, but he couldn't just sit in the motel worrying. Emma hadn't left a trace this time, and he'd exhausted every faint shadow of a lead. The sound of his cell phone ringing had Sam fumbling to pick up with none of his usual athletic grace.

"Sam Winchester?" The soft, sweet voice was hauntingly familiar.

"This is Sam."

"Thank God I tracked you down. It's Missouri Mosely. I've got to speak to your brother."

"Missouri? Dean's dead." Sam's voice broke as he repeated the news. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry." There was a pause. "But you should know, I got a call from someone… Some _thing_, claiming to be Dean's daughter."

He stifled the urge to laugh wildly. "It's okay. Emma is definitely Dean's, all right."

"That's as may be, but I see nothing but bad omens where this child of his is concerned." Missouri's usual soft-spoken voice was unnaturally stern. "Blood. So much blood."

"She's on her way to you now, isn't she?" Again, Sam felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Relief. Of course. He should have known that Emma would seek out Missouri. The woman's psychic abilities were renowned.

"I told her I had nothing to say to her, but I can sense her, Sam. Coming closer every hour. She's on her way."

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'll come get her."

* * *

Eleven hours later Sam pulled up in front of Missouri's modest house in Lawrence, Kansas. He got out of the car and stretched gratefully. With all the worry, all the driving, he felt as if he'd done more than enough penance for that time in Flagstaff when, a teenager himself, he'd run away from home. The porch light was on and Missouri opened the front door before he had a chance to knock. She looked about the same as ever, Sam thought, just a few strands of gray glimmering at her temples.

"Hi, Missouri. Is Emma here?"

She led him a few steps into the house, closing the door behind them, and pointed with her chin to where the teen lay curled up on a sofa in the living room. Asleep, Emma looked much younger, child-like and innocent. Not at all like the monstrous subject of ominous visions, Sam thought wryly.

Missouri looked embarrassed. "I might have slipped a little something into her sweet tea," she admitted, wringing her hands.

"You roofied my niece? Missouri, she's just a kid," Sam said, disapproving. He couldn't help but notice, though, that she'd tucked Emma in with a crocheted afghan and put a pillow under her head.

"She's not human. I had such terrible visions of Dean," Missouri whispered. "Violence and bloodshed... Sam, I don't even want to tell you the details."

"I get it. Hands and feet cut off, cryptic symbol carved into his chest?"

Her eyes widened. "You're not saying that's how he—"

"No, ma'am. Dean died saving the world. From Dick Roman," Sam couldn't resist adding.

"The billionaire philanthropist?" Missouri shook her head. "Doesn't surprise me. Whenever he came on the television all I could see was folks lined up like cattle, and an ocean of nasty tar. Come on back to the kitchen, Sam. I'll make you an early breakfast."

He followed her into the cozy little kitchen, seating himself at her table. "Emma is an Amazon, but she's definitely a Winchester, too," Sam began, explaining about the all-female tribe of monsters as Missouri fixed a pot of coffee. "But she's really a good kid," he concluded some time later. "Dean did something right, Missouri. Emma left the tribe and she's never given me one reason since not to trust her."

The teenager appeared in the kitchen doorway as Sam was eating breakfast, yawning and blinking in the bright light of the overhead fixture. "Please," she said to Missouri. "I'm sorry that I frighten you. Just tell me where my father is and I'll never bother you again."

The psychic set down her coffee cup and looked off into the distance, her eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. Sam was impressed by how little fanfare Missouri needed to access her abilities.

"He's gone," she said softly, looking to Sam first, sympathy and pain in her gaze. Missouri turned back to Emma. "Let it go, child. I'm sorry, but your father is gone."

Emma tipped her chin up, a stubborn expression settling on her face. "Gone but not dead," she insisted.

"Let it go." Missouri's voice was still soft, but stern now, that same uncharacteristic tone Sam had heard over the phone. "Child, I'm telling you there's nothing good down that path. Blood and death, that's all. A violent, ugly death. You too, Sam, if you don't pay any mind."

She stood and laid a hand on Emma's shoulder, her expression sad. "I'm sorry, Emma, but death comes for all of us. Don't you go rushing it. I know you love your father, but your uncle's right this time."


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you feeling okay to drive?" Sam asked Emma as they headed down Missouri Mosely's sidewalk to the waiting Impala.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Missouri slipped a sedative into your iced tea. You might want to be a little less trusting next time someone offers you a drink," Sam informed her. Even more reason, he thought, to get the kid out of the life. Hunters and their associates, people who knew about the supernatural, would never understand Emma. They'd always see her as a monster. A threat, and in return, they'd always be a threat to her.

He fell asleep easily as the car rolled down the highway. Waking a couple of hours later, Sam knew immediately that something was wrong. A lifetime spent criss-crossing the country had left him with a mental roadmap as detailed as any GPS. He blinked as they passed a highway sign.

"We're just outside of Denver," he spoke up, keeping his voice neutral. Emma had made a mistake, but no real harm done, Sam reasoned. If they headed south through Amarillo they'd make it home without losing too much time. He suppressed a chuckle, imagining his own father's reaction. John Winchester wouldn't have hesitated to express his annoyance at the delay...In no uncertain terms.

"Yeah, I figured we'd head north and meet up with interstate ninety," Emma explained.

Which was no explanation at all, Sam thought, baffled. "Emma? Where are we going?"

"The cabin," she said, glancing over at him with an expression just as confused as his own. "We're going to need Uncle Bobby's books, unless you already know a soul-bonding ritual off the top of your head."

Apparently there'd been a breakdown in communication somewhere along the way. Sam resisted the urge to sigh and waited for the next series of exit signs to appear. "Okay, pull off here. We can switch drivers… After you tell me what the hell you're talking about now."

* * *

"Say again?" Sam tipped his head back and took a long pull of beer. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

"Dad's in Purgatory," Emma repeated patiently. "Come on, Sam, it makes perfect sense. That's where the Levis came from in the first place. That's where monsters go when they die. And you heard Missouri. She said Dad was 'gone'. She never said dead. He got dragged into Purgatory when he killed Dick Roman. Castiel, too." Emma beamed at him. "We've just got to go in and get them out."

His pulse sped up as she spoke, his mind reeling. Looking at Dean's daughter's face, so full of confidence and joy, Sam wanted to believe. He quashed the thought. The last thing Emma needed was for him to jump on this bandwagon without thinking everything through first. He had to keep a clear head.

"And the soul-bonding? How does that factor in?"

"Well, obviously hunters don't get dragged into Purgatory every time they gank a monster. So unless you want to try and build another God-weapon…" Emma said, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She leaned back on the warm trunk of the Impala and took a swallow of her own drink, a small, locally bottled brand of root beer made with pure cane sugar. Sucrocorp had gone belly-up after Dick Roman's demise, but Sam was still wary of tainted corn syrup.

He sipped his beer, pondering the phrasing of his next question. Sam was used to being acknowledged as the brains of the operation. It was annoying to have his niece look at him as if he had some sort of intellectual impairment.

"So we soul-bond and I gank you," he said, keeping his tone casual with an effort, "and get hauled into Purgatory in your soul's slipstream, is that it?" Emma nodded. "Great plan, Emma, except for starters, your soul belongs to the Greek goddess Harmonia, remember? You're not going to monster heaven. Your final destination is... I don't know, probably the Elysian Fields."

"Nah," Emma drawled, with the same defiant nonchalance Dean used to display when refusing to acknowledge that a subject was a painful one. "I just told you guys that so you wouldn't freak out. I'm a monster." She shrugged. "No mythological Greek get out of jail free card for me."

* * *

"I'm not running, Amelia. I told you, I've just got some loose ends to tie up. It's complicated." Sitting on the dilapidated front porch of Rufus Turner's old cabin, Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was the kind of conversation that really needed to be face to face.

"Emma's fine. I think this time away is really going to be good for her," he forged ahead, hoping that that statement was even remotely true. "Yeah, I think this will help her find closure," he agreed. "Listen, Amelia? Thanks for taking care of Riot for me, and, you know," Sam paused awkwardly. "For everything," he concluded. "Yeah...You too...I'll call you soon." I hope, he added to himself as he hung up.

They'd researched soul-bonding, which seemed straightforward enough, and they'd found some evidence in lore about a portal out of Purgatory. That, too, seemed fairly straightforward, Sam thought. Purgatory was never meant for humans. After all, God had created the dimension in order to keep humanity safe.

But still, "It's a lot of ifs, Emma. _ If_ your soul really is destined for Purgatory. _If_ we can find Dean once we get there. _ If_ we can find a way back out. If any of this was easy, you'd have to figure Dean would already be back."

Emma scoffed. "Purgatory's got to be a big place to hold forty million souls. And don't forget, Dad's got to fight his way through all those monsters to get to the portal. That's why he needs us to come help him."

Sam chuckled humorlessly. Emma's family loyalty was unwavering. She'd convinced him, he thought, but his stomach churned with nausea at the thought of what they would have to do.

* * *

"Hey, Uncle Sam?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the worn scrap of parchment he'd been reviewing for what felt like the hundredth time, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Emma had never called him uncle before. And she'd better not plan on making a habit of it, either, he thought dryly. He wasn't about to share a name with America's goateed, top-hatted patriotic symbol.

"Can I get an anti-possession tattoo, like yours and Dad's?"

"I really don't think you getting possessed is going to be a problem where we're going, Em."

"I know, but it's our last day on earth," she wheedled.

"That's my point. There's no demons in Purgatory," Sam pointed out again.

"Yeah, but you just know Dad's never going to let me get a tattoo. I figure this is pretty much my only chance," Emma grinned.

"No way," Sam laughed. "Dean would kill me!"

* * *

_Author's note: Wow, thanks for all the follows, favorites, and extra thanks with pie on top for the reviews. I really appreciate the support and encouragement!_

_By the way, if you're looking for another great family-centric story, check out _nani'anela_'s fic _Paint It Black_, featuring Baby the Impala. _


	5. Chapter 5

Sam woke up wild-eyed and panting, stifling a cry of pure anguish. He shook his head as the nightmare receded, pushing his hair out of his eyes and blinking in the soft sunlight filtering through the dusty windows of the cabin. Rising from the old leather sofa where he'd spent the night, Sam padded on bare feet to the alcove where Emma slept on a folding cot. He gave the teen's quilt-covered shoulder a gentle shake.

"Rise and shine."

It didn't take long to get ready. Less than half an hour later, they descended the rickety stairs to the basement. Sam had a machete in a canvas holster strapped across his back along with his usual assortment of concealed weapons. Emma's Amazon blade was tucked into the sleeve of her favorite of Dean's old shirts.

"Kevin was right," she remarked cheerfully as they reached the plastic tarp Sam had thrown down on the floor, "this really does look like a sex-torture dungeon."

He rolled his eyes as he rolled up his sleeve. "Shut up. This is awkward enough already." Sam paused with the blade of his knife resting on his forearm. "Emma, I'm not so sure about this. My soul is—"

"Kind of mangled?" Emma offered.

"Yeah, and we don't know how long the bond will last. This might hurt you," he warned, but predictably, Emma was already shaking her head.

"It'll be fine, Sam." She drew out a pocket knife and they each cut a shallow gash across their forearms with typical Winchester stoicism. Sam recited the soul-bonding incantation as they pressed the bleeding wounds together. A flash of light emanated from the spot where the blood mingled, a brilliant glow that radiated up their arms before gradually fading away. At least there was proof that the spell had worked, he thought, relieved to see that Emma wasn't immediately harmed by bonding with his damaged soul.

"Ew, that was creepy," she chirped, rolling her sleeve back down over the wound, which appeared to have been cauterized by the magical radiance. "I hope this doesn't mean that we're, like, married now, Sam, because I'm positive that's illegal in all fifty states."

Sam couldn't help but smile even as he rolled his eyes again in exasperation. The wisecracking was so reminiscent of Dean. He knelt down, sitting back on his heels as Emma settled on her knees in front of him. Sam had spread out the plastic tarp on the floor beneath them with his usual fastidious attention to detail. If this worked, there wouldn't be anyone left to clean up the blood and bury the remains. Sam pushed the unpleasant thought from his mind.

"You don't have to go through with it if you don't want to, Emma. Dean would never ask this of you."

"It's okay." She lifted her chin, defiant. "I'm not scared."

"Well, I am." He felt the hot sting of gathering tears and roughly pulled her into an A-frame of a hug, his arm wrapped tight around her shoulders.

"On the count of three, Sam," she mumbled against his chest. "And just so we're clear, it's one-two-three and _then_ stab, not one-two and stab on three, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, chuckling through his tears. "And Em? Just in case I don't get to tell you later, you're a great kid. I—"

"Oh, gross," Emma protested, cutting him off.

Her voice broke a little and Sam felt a tell-tale wetness where her face was pressed against his shirtfront. She started to say something else, but he clenched his eyes shut, consciously contorting his face into a grimace to confine the muscle tension that might otherwise telegraph his intent. Sam eased Emma away from him slightly and slid the knife up under her ribs, a swift, efficient killing blow.

Her eyes flared, pupils blown wide surrounded by an inhuman ring of bone white, but they were already glazed over, unseeing. Blood bubbled up from her lips. For a long moment Sam was back in his nightmare, alone in the basement cradling his brother's dead child in his arms, a howl of guilt and remorse building up in his chest. Then he felt himself seized in a crushing grip and yanked away into oblivion.

He came to with his head lolling on Emma's shoulder. For a few seconds Sam was utterly disoriented. His body seemed to be floating. His niece was carrying him, he realized with a start of embarrassment. Her superhuman strength let her lift him as easily as if he was a toddler, but his six-foot-five frame was clearly an awkward burden for the teen. His toes were dragging on the ground behind her, jouncing over rocks and fallen logs as she strode through an eerie twilight landscape.

"Um, Emma? You can put me down now."

"Whew. I thought you'd never wake up."

Her hair was disheveled and there was a spatter of dried blood across her face, Sam saw as he dusted himself off, trying to regain his dignity. Not her own blood, he noted with relief. There was no sign of the mortal wound he'd inflicted on her, but she'd obviously already tangled with at least one monster.

"I'd get out that machete if I were you," Emma told him with a feral grin, her own long-bladed Amazon knife dangling easily in her grip.

Sam heard a rustle of dried leaves behind him and whirled toward the sound, drawing the machete from its sheath as he turned. In his peripheral vision he saw Emma drop into a fighting stance beside him. He barked out a humorless laugh, baring his teeth in an intimidating grin of his own. They'd done it.

"Welcome to Purgatory."

* * *

_Author's note: short snow day update because I totes love you guys. _ ;)

_Muchas gracias to_ nani'anela, Psychee, 'guest', CatastrophicCarnival, artemis lover, _and_ Rose-MaxareBadass _for taking time out of their busy lives to review!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Tell me what you know about the angel Castiel." Sam had the werewolf up against a tree, pinned to the trunk with one of his knives stabbed through the creature's shoulder.

The filthy, bearded man snarled and spat. "I don't know about any angel!"

He struggled and Sam twisted the blade, drawing a keening whine of pain from the creature's throat. "What about my brother? A hunter, Dean Winchester?"

"I'm telling you, I don't know."

Sam stepped back, swinging his machete in one fluid motion, decapitating the werewolf. He was cleaning his blades on the creature's ragged jacket when the sound of fighting had him whipping around and running back toward where he'd left Emma on guard duty.

She'd already dispatched the monster in the few seconds it took Sam to get to her.

"What was that?" she asked, her nose wrinkled in disgust. The creature's mouth gaped open, revealing brown, rotted teeth. Its skin was patchy and decaying.

"Rugaru," Sam said, looking the pathetic corpse over. "It's a genetic mutation, near as we can tell. They start out human, but sooner or later they turn cannibal and transform into wormy little flesh-eaters."

"Ugh, gross," Emma groaned, but he could see pity in her expression along with the horror.

Sam suspected she was remembering the Amazon initiation ritual where she and her sisters had been forced to consume human flesh. Emma had been a strict vegetarian ever since. Fortunately, neither of them had felt any need to eat since their arrival in Purgatory. They didn't seem to need sleep, either, though Sam could already feel the strain of mental fatigue.

They'd been in Purgatory three days, if the cycle of light and darkness was an accurate indicator of the passage of time. The days never brightened past an eerie twilight than bleached the landscape gray. The only real color in Purgatory's forest was the red of freshly spilled blood, and even that was a dull maroon. Sam and Emma had fallen into a routine, constantly on the move as long as there was enough light to see by. He'd stopped counting the creatures they'd battled with after the first day. The presence of a human seemed to draw the monsters like flies to carrion, and at least one monster had acknowledged Sam Winchester by name. He'd felt satisfaction at that, knowing that he and Dean and their dad had sent enough monster souls to Purgatory to have earned a reputation for themselves here.

He questioned their attackers any chance he got, looking for leads to help them find Dean and Cas. Sam had Emma stand guard during these interrogations, making her wait out of view of the sights and most of the anguished sounds of his methods of persuasion. So far, she'd seemed to take Purgatory in stride, which worried him. Granted, he was relieved that Emma seemed able to hold her own in the harsh, unforgiving environment, but the long-term effect the relentless brutality would have on the teen was a real concern.

"Let's get going," he said now, putting worry aside in favor of action.

The forest seemed to stretch on forever without variation. Sam and Emma climbed up a steep ridge and made their way along the top of it for a while. Looking down through the trees, they both spotted the river running through the valley below at the same time.

"Awesome," Emma breathed, and would have taken off at a jog, but Sam put a hand on her arm, holding her back.

"Take it easy," he warned. The swift-moving water rushing over the rocky riverbed would be noisy, hiding the sound of an enemy's approach, and like a watering hole on the African savannah, the river crossing would almost certainly attract predators.

Emma rolled her eyes but followed her uncle's lead, approaching the bank with caution. Sam stood guard as she knelt by the water, scanning the woods around them with narrowed eyes. In a minute she returned, drying her face on the hem of Dean's shirt.

"Your turn," she grinned.

It was amazing how good the simple act of splashing water on his face felt. He smiled back at Emma as he rejoined her in the shelter of the trees. Even though neither of them felt any thirst here in Purgatory, simply washing off some of the dirt they'd accumulated had boosted their morale.

They hadn't walked much farther before a rustling had both of them on their guard, weapons at the ready. Castiel appeared about thirty feet in front of Sam, who immediately chastised himself for not recognizing the distinctive sound of angel wings. In his defense, it wasn't something you'd expect to hear in Purgatory.

The sight of the angel made Sam relax enough to ease out of his defensive stance and lower his machete, though three days in this place had taught him the futility of putting the weapon back in its sheath. Castiel was filthy, his iconic trenchcoat and the hospital scrubs he wore beneath it darkened with layer upon layer of grime. His usual dark scruff of stubble had grown enough to count as a real beard, giving Sam a pang of remorse when he thought how long it had taken him to come after him and Dean.

"Hey, Cas." He approached cautiously, feeling as if he might spook him if he moved too suddenly. The angel's face was haggard, his eyes guarded. Like everything else in Purgatory, the wan twilight had robbed them of color, replacing the vivid blue Sam remembered with a dull shade of gray.

"Sam." Castiel inclined his head in greeting. "I would say that it is good to see you, but under the circumstances I feel that the usual social conventions do not apply."

"Yeah, I'd rather neither of us were here," Sam chuckled, "but it's still good to see you, too."

Castiel seemed more normal, more sane, Sam thought, than he'd been in a long time. "Where's Dean?" he had to ask. Although it made sense for the angel to fly on ahead, seeing Cas without his brother right there with him was setting off alarm bells in Sam's head.

"I do not know. I have not seen Dean in some time," Castiel intoned, his lack of emotion drawing an incredulous huff of breath from Sam.

"You don't know? Did you two get separated? What happened?"

"An angel in Purgatory draws a great deal of attention," Castiel explained. "I deemed it safer for Dean if we split up."

Sam suppressed a sigh. Once Cas had appeared he'd been hoping for a speedy reunion with his brother. Now it seemed that that wouldn't be the case after all.

"Heads up," Emma said tersely, effectively stopping the deluge of questions Sam wanted to inundate Castiel with. The Winchesters moved to stand back to back, a reaction that was quickly becoming instinctive. By contrast, Cas disappeared in a rustle of wings.

"Cas? Damn it," Sam muttered, but there was no time for him to react further. An entire nest of vampires advanced through the trees, and like just about everything else in Purgatory, their expressions were far from friendly.

* * *

_Author's note: Okay, cards on the table, Benny Lafitte will not be appearing in this story. I know, I love Benny, but if you think about it, in canon Benny fills Emma's role as the monster who becomes family. In fact after obsessing over Emma for half of season 7 like a complete loon, I almost gave up on writing an Emma fic at all after season 8 came out, because Benny was the reason Dean started seeing monsters as people, he was the reason for the conflict between Dean and Sam, he was the reason Dean was able to escape from Purgatory, etc, etc. He did away with any need for Emma to exist except as an excuse for daddy!Dean fluff. So it was really one or the other and obviously, I chose Emma. My apologies for any disappointment._

_I have been toying with the idea of including him in a cameo, just because I do love the guy so, so much, but whether that happens is up to you. Please feel free to review or PM and let me know if you've got a preference one way or the other._

_Finally, thanks to everyone who has followed and favorited, and to_ CatastrophicCarnival, Mayrem, 'Guest', CommChatter, nani'anela, , Olivia Crane, opi, RHatch89, kitkatthecat, _and_ reddevil47 for being so lovely and kind as to review.


	7. Chapter 7

The vampires—half a dozen of them—closed in, forming a loose circle around them. Sam's heart plummeted as he watched them stalk forward with casual grace, as if he and Emma posed no real threat at all. It was impossible to tell which one might be their leader. They moved in concert and had obviously been fighting together as a unit for a very long time. It was too bad Castiel had decided to take off, he thought bitterly. They could have used the help.

One of the vamps feinted at him with a crude blade fashioned out of some sort of dark metal. Sam didn't take the bait. Behind him, one of the others must have made a similar move toward Emma. Sam cursed silently as the teenager dashed out to engage her attacker. The remaining vampires swiftly took advantage and closed in, separating them.

Sam could only hope Emma would be able to hold her own as three vampires rushed him, baring their fangs. He swung his machete, metal ringing against metal as the one who had attacked initially parried. He barely had time to turn and knock aside a blow from yet another attacker. Behind him, Sam heard the clang of Emma's Amazon sword meeting an opponent's blade.

Then he felt a phantom breeze brush his cheek and heard that distinctive rustling sound. Castiel reappeared, cleanly beheading a vampire with one swift stroke of his sword. Sam turned, trusting Cas to have his back while he helped Emma. The teen was fighting a big, brutish-looking vamp armed with a crude weapon that looked like a cross between a battle-axe and a carburetor. She looked hopelessly outmatched: if Sam had been under the mistaken impression that she was a normal girl, he might have been in genuine fear for her life.

As it was he was only mildly concerned as she ducked beneath a swing of the clumsy axe and slashed at the blood-sucker's legs. Sam aimed for the vampire's neck with his machete, a blow the vampire managed to parry, but Emma took advantage of the distraction her uncle had provided and slashed his throat from behind.

Sam jumped back, but not before getting thoroughly spattered with blood. Emma, with her superhuman strength, had damn near severed the vampire's spinal cord. A glance back at Castiel, and Sam saw that the angel had dispatched another vampire while his back had been turned. The remaining three took off running.

"Thanks—" he started to say, but Castiel shook his head, cutting him off.

"Get out of here. Now. Run!"

Sam and Emma exchanged a look. The angel had his head cocked to one side, as if listening for some sound beyond the range of their hearing. His face was taut with anxiety. "What's going on?" Sam demanded.

Castiel huffed out a sigh as a black comet trailing a tail of smoke behind it streaked through the trees toward them. "Leviathan," he said, resigned.

The ball of black goo hit the ground, throwing Emma and Sam off balance and leaving a shallow crater in which the goo quickly rose upright, forming itself into a humanoid shape. Another comet zoomed in and crash landed in the same fashion, black goo shaping itself into the form of a woman in a crisply tailored suit. The first Leviathan, a male, was equally well-dressed, the pair's black business attire looking utterly incongruous in Purgatory's backcountry forest setting. They drew long-bladed knives and advanced on Castiel.

By unspoken agreement Sam and Emma engaged the female, who opened her mouth obscenely wide to reveal a face full of sharp, jagged teeth as they advanced. She didn't stand a chance. Sam struck her shoulder with his machete, a blow that chopped her torso almost in two. Emma swung her Amazon blade and lopped off the Leviathan's head.

A metallic screech had Sam whirling back to assist Castiel, who stood locked in combat, his angel sword hung up on the knife wielded by the male Leviathan as each struggled to break free and take a fresh swing at the other. Sam's machete sliced cleanly through the Leviathan's neck.

Castiel immediately began chopping the creature into pieces. Judging by his reaction, Sam thought, they must still possess the ability to reassemble themselves here in Purgatory. Emma followed suit, hacking a leg off the female Leviathan and kicking it away from the corpse. Sam frowned as he watched her. He'd gotten used to seeing her eyes flare during combat, but this time the coloring had yet to fade, leaving a ruddy, inhuman flush around wild, bone-white eyes. There was a spatter of dark blood across one cheek and a smear of black goo on her forehead, but it was her expression that Sam found the most disturbing. The teenager looked vengeful, a half-crazed Greek goddess of retribution.

"Emma. It's okay. I've got this," he said quietly, moving to place a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off impatiently and aimed a vicious kick at the Leviathan's decapitated head. Sam thought he understood. They'd been battling these creatures for the entirety of Emma's short life. The Leviathans had robbed Emma of any semblance of normalcy Dean might have otherwise been able to give her, and ultimately, they'd taken him away from her, too. Even so, seeing the bloodlust lingering in those inhuman eyes was unsettling.

"Emma," he tried again, and when the girl didn't answer Sam resorted to his best drill-sergeant dad impersonation. "I said I've got this," he barked. "Stand down. Now!"

Chastened, she backed off and sat down to rest on a fallen log. Sam took care of dismantling the rest of the female's corpse, giving Emma a moment to collect herself. He was relieved to see her coloring had returned to normal after a minute or two. Castiel kicked the male Levi's head away from its body and walked over.

"I see now why you didn't stick with Dean," Sam offered.

"He has a better chance without me shining like a beacon for every Leviathan in Purgatory," Castiel said gravely. "Keep following the river," he advised. "If I can locate Dean I will send him in your direction."

"Why don't you stay with—Damn it, Cas!" Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration as, once again, the angel disappeared in a rustle of unseen wings. He sighed. Some things never changed. Walking back to Emma, Sam dropped down next to her. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam." Her tone was dismissive. Emma hopped to her feet. "Let's go."

Sam suppressed another sigh as he followed her. There was another thing that never seemed to change.

* * *

"We're never going to find him, are we?"

They'd just finished fighting off a pair of Vetalas. Emma's eyes darkened back to their human coloration as she wiped her blade on the monster's clothing.

"I was hoping Cas would have at least had a lead on Dean by now," Sam admitted. In the two days since they'd run into the angel he'd waited impatiently for word of his brother. Now it was clear that Emma had been waiting, too. Hope was cruel, Sam thought. They'd both fallen prey to the hope that their search would soon be accomplished.

"That doesn't mean we won't find him, Emma." Sam finished cleaning his knife and walked over to his niece, suppressing his own doubts. It wouldn't do any good for both of them to give in to despair. "Come on, buck up. It hasn't even been a full week," he told her bracingly, pulling her against his side in a one-armed hug. Predictably, she shrugged it off.

Sam followed as the teenager led the way through the trees, the river off to their right. After another half hour of walking the deepening twilight began to play tricks on his eyes. Shadows lengthened, seeming to take on the shapes of any number of monsters moving stealthily between the trees, making his already-heightened nerves jangle. Sam was about to call a halt when Emma stopped walking ahead and moved back to stand close to him.

"Want to stop for the night?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"Yeah." Another flicker of shadow and Sam held up a hand, instinctively placing himself between the teenager and the possible threat. His eyes narrowed as he squinted through the trees. There was definitely something out there, slipping from the cover of one tree trunk to the next.

The strain of the last few days overwhelmed Sam and he huffed out an aggrieved sigh. Really? Another monster to battle, now? Just when they were about to settle down for a few hours of rest? Motioning for Emma to stay put, Sam stepped out into the open. Okay, so maybe trash-talking whatever was lurking in the gathering darkness wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had, but the days of futile searching were wearing on Sam's nerves.

"Hey," he called out. "I've got better things to do than watch you stumble around out there. You're not stealthy and you're not fooling anyone, so let's get this over with." He glared into the woods, his ever-present machete swinging lightly in his grip.

There was a snort of laughter. "...Sammy?"

Sam blinked. "Dean? Dean!"

"Sam!"

"Dean!" Sam forced out past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

"Dad!" Emma bolted past him and tore into the woods.

* * *

_Author's note: Thank you for all the feedback! I have tried to take it into account. Personal thanks goes out to_ Mayrem, CommChatter, Rose-MaxareBadass, , nani'anela, CatastrophicCarnival, reddevil47, RHatch89, opi, vsncheze, kitkatthecat, _and_ Olivia Crane _(x2!) for your reviews. _

_Next up, family reunion and Dean's inevitable critique of Sam's surrogate parenting efforts. ;)_


	8. Chapter 8

Sam reveled in a moment of perfect happiness and contentment as he watched his brother's reunion with his daughter. Emma slammed into her dad with enough force to stagger him back a few steps. Dean picked her up and swung her around, like the little girl she still was at heart, Sam thought, and felt the lump in his throat give way to tears. Then Emma picked Dean up and swung him in a giddy circle of her own, both of them laughing like lunatics.

"Sammy!"

The demand in his brother's voice was unmistakable. Sam crashed through the underbrush to join the insanity, crushing Dean to him in a bear hug, one that Dean returned with enough exuberance to knock the wind out of them both. Then, by silent accord, they broke apart just enough for Dean to haul Emma into the embrace.

"Ugh, let me go, you two _aspis adelphai,_" she protested, giggling, but Sam just tousled her filthy, matted hair and hugged his family even tighter.

* * *

Morning found them walking through the endless trees, following the river. Dean stalked in the lead in sullen silence. Sam brought up the rear, resigned. His brother hadn't asked too many questions last night, and Emma had deflected the few he had. Sam had been grateful for the respite, but now it was obvious that Dean had worked out just how he'd managed to find his way into Purgatory. Sam watched his brother lead the way, armed with a crudely-forged blade, the handle of which appeared to be a femur. Anger radiated from the set of his shoulders. Suppressing a sigh, Sam knew it was only a matter of time before that seething emotion erupted into harsh words, even violence.

But first, a faint whine overhead signaled incoming violence of the non-fraternal variety. All three Winchesters instinctively moved back to back, allied seamlessly against the Leviathans. Two of them this time, Sam saw as the inky comets hit with an impact that shook the forest floor and twin columns of black goo arose, taking on the unlikely form of businessmen in dapper black suits. Maybe the Leviathans traveled in pairs in Purgatory, or maybe, Sam thought dryly, they were just lucky. The two monsters opened their mouths impossibly wide, displaying rows of vicious fangs, and advanced. Dean and Emma moved in perfect synchronization to drive them back, and Sam felt a fierce pulse of pride run through him at the sight. He'd taught Emma to fight like that, the same way his father had taught him and Dean.

Sam put the thought aside and joined the battle. The Leviathans were no match for the Winchesters and it was over quickly. He hacked the taller of the two males into pieces and scattered them, standing and arching his back in a well-deserved stretch when the unpleasant business was finished.

"Hey," Dean barked at Emma, and for a moment Sam thought his brother was expressing concern at the teen's gleeful dismemberment of the other Levi. But no, Sam saw, he'd caught a glimpse of the tattoo she'd acquired just before they'd left for Purgatory.

"What the hell is this?" Dean yanked up the hem of Emma's shirt to glare at the offending design inked across her lower back.

"Dad. It's no big deal, just an anti-possession sigil, like yours and Sam's." She squirmed, trying to evade her father's grasp, but Dean held her in place with his hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt.

"You let Emma get a tattoo?" he accused Sam. "You let my daughter get a_ tramp stamp_?"

"Hey," Emma protested, "I wanted to put it where it wouldn't show... And it kind of wouldn't fit anywhere else," she added guiltily.

It wasn't just the standard interlaced five-pointed star surrounded by flames. Emma's tattoo included ornate flourishes and a Latin inscription in fancy lettering. Privately Sam had thought it was all more than just a bit too much, but she'd wheedled and begged and it_ had_ been their last night on earth…

"Dammit, Sammy, I thought I could trust you. You were supposed to look after her!"

Sam was about to offer a retort, but stopped when Dean narrowed his eyes, lips moving as he read over the Latin phrase. _Non timebo mala_, it began, 'I will fear no evil', the words of the ancient psalm inscribed on Samuel Colt's legendary gun. At Emma's insistence—and with Sam providing the translation—the tattoo artist had added 'for I am the meanest monster in the valley'.

"Dude." Dean instilled the single syllable with withering disgust. "You didn't even get the conjugation right."

Sam was pretty sure that he had, but now was probably not the best time to debate the finer points of Latin grammar with his irate big brother. Although the fact that Dean was more than capable of debating the finer points of Latin grammar just went to show that he wasn't half as dumb as he pretended to be.

But Dean had finally dropped the hem of Emma's shirt, letting the teenager go in favor of striding toward Sam, fists clenched. "You know, I could maybe understand if she'd run off and got inked on her own, Sammy, but you went along with it? You were supposed to be the adult," he raged.

"You'd understand if Emma had run off? Really?" Sam's voice was laced with sarcasm. "Well, that's good, because actually she did run away. Three times." It was petty, Sam knew, but he felt a little flare of satisfaction when Dean's eyes widened.

"I caught her the first time, but I've got to tell you, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, because the second time she made it all the way to New Orleans. Using stolen credit cards," Sam added with relish. "Like I said, apple;tree. Oh, and the third time, I didn't even have a lead on where she'd run off to until Missouri Moseley called me to come pick her up...After she'd found out Emma wasn't human and knocked her out with drugged iced tea," Sam added as an afterthought. Dean's face had darkened, but under Purgatory's lighting conditions it was hard to tell if his cheeks were red or merely pink.

"Um, Sam?" Emma was eyeing her father's complexion too.

"Quiet, Emma Jo." Dean stalked another step closer to Sam. "She ran away to Missouri? Why?"

"Well, technically, she ran away to Kansas, but she consulted Missouri to find out how to bring you back, of course… Which involved a soul bond, by the way, and we both know mine is kind of trashed, but hey," Sam deadpanned, "once you commit to stabbing your brother's monster kid though the heart so you can ride her into Purgatory, little details like defiled souls and tramp stamp tattoos kind of lose their significance."

Definitely purple now, Sam thought as Dean let out a bellow of pure rage and punched him.

Sam sidestepped the uppercut—honestly, he'd have to have been blind, stupid, and drunk not to have seen that one coming after taunting Dean into a fury—and landed a couple eminently satisfying punches of his own before Dean's fist connected with his jaw, leaving him blinking away the stars that swam in his vision.

"Stop it!" Emma yelled, stepping in and using her Amazon strength to hold them apart at arm's length. "Dad, Sam, please. Stop fighting. Save it for the monsters," she pleaded.

Dean squirmed, a move uncannily similar to Emma's recent attempt to wriggle out of his grip when he'd discovered her tattoo, but now the tables were turned. Sam snickered, but stopped himself at a significant glance from Dean.

"Okay," the brothers chorused, united for the moment against a common enemy. Emma looked skeptical, but Sam raised his hands in a soothing gesture and Dean nodded reassuringly.

"We're done," Sam said, mentally adding, _almost _as he felt Emma loosen her grip.

"In just a minute," Dean clarified as she stepped back, and the fight was on again.

"You're both insane," Emma huffed, and moved off to a safe distance to let them duke it out.

* * *

"She really stole your girlfriend's credit card to buy a bus ticket to New Orleans?" Dean grinned, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.

"Uh-huh. Except Amelia's not exactly my girlfriend." Sam probed his split lip with his tongue, tasting blood.

"She is totally Sam's girlfriend," Emma told her dad, sidling over to join the conversation.

"Is not," Sam couldn't help but retort, even knowing it was pointless.

"Is too," father and daughter chimed.

Sam snorted a laugh and shook his head, conceding defeat. At least the brawl over Emma's tattoo had earned him a respite from his brother's ire. As if reading his mind, Dean reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Let's go find Cas and get the hell out of here."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks for the oodles of review-dles, labradoodles! Okay, I might be a little bit punch-drunk myself after that chapter, but sincere thanks to_ RHatch89, Mayrem, CommChatter, Rose-MaxAreBadass, opi, Olivia Crane, , _and_ reddevil47 _anyway. _

_Up next, as if Leviathans and a missing angel aren't enough to contend with, Emma attracts the attention of some of Purgatory's Amazons. _


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